Art of Attraction
by Tickle Me Rainbow
Summary: Gil Centric. "Love? I am NOT in love—especially not with her. I just can't...keep it in my pants. That's all."
1. Asexuality

**Summary: AU. **_Gil Centric: __"__**Love**__! I am NOT in love—especially not with __her. __I just can't...keep __**it**__ in my pants. That's all."_

**Disclaimer: **_I do not, and will _never_, own any bit of the Harvest Moon franchise. All I can take ownership for is the plot and my OC, Meredith._

**Enjoy**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Hamilton Dietrich had come to the firm conclusion, over the span of his forty three years of living, that: Raising a girl would be _**hell**_—particularly, when _puberty _would, inevitably, rear its ugly head into the game called Parenthood.

However, someone seemed to favor Hamilton upstairs.

For after many months of courting his sweetheart, Meredith—the _oh-so_ alluring preschool teacher from down the lane; with her flaxen ringlets crowning her beatific face and two honey-liquid irises dripping over her perfectly round and flushed cheeks—he finally managed to convince her that they were meant for one another. And what do people who are destined to be forever in-love do next? They agree to settle down with one another, have it acknowledged legally, and then proceed to romp in the sheets.

(Hamilton always finds himself chuckling when he recalls the way Meredith would playfully call him a 'creeper' whenever he suggested they get down and dirtier. He knows she loved the way he waggled his eyebrows—he just _knows it_.)

A riotous nine months later, and Hamilton finds himself blessed with the opportunity to meet his precious newborn son, the heir to his unexplainable greatness, Gil. When the doctor told him about his healthy new offspring and the impressive family jewels he was packing—

Hamilton thought he was _safe_ from the impending doom that he might have been subjected to if his sweetheart had given birth to a _girl_ instead.

His elation is only increased further when he wins a game of Rock-Paper-Scissors against Meredith. He won't even have to worry about giving _the Talk _anymore, because Meredith, that pretty little sore-loser, has just been given the rights to do that. And Hamilton honestly couldn't cease his bragging or excitement after that.

Honestly, Hamilton just wasn't the type of man who could mentally prepare himself to elaborate the wonders of _mating_ to his son. Despite the fact that he was a _master_ in bed, he could never bring himself to tell a hormonal and curious preteen the difference between male and female genitals.

He has to suppress a gag whenever he even _thinks_ about those words.

Unfortunately, the Higher Forces no longer seem to favor Hamilton. _At all_.

It happens during mid-autumn, October, when Meredith's immune system suffers from a nasty virus. Every time Hamilton thought it would get better, things would only take a turn for the worst. The doctors, no matter how much money you shoved down their highly-educated throats, weren't reassuring in the least. Gradually, like the grains of sands in an hourglass, her life dissipates. And soon, she's slipped off the face of the earth, leaving behind a nearly suicidal Hamilton and distressed, yet perplexed seven-year-old.

Hamilton's grieving period did not waver for months. His mourning lasted years. The only world he had known was the abyss of depression that he had collapsed into the day she had finally stopped breathing. He wasn't functioning properly; alcohol and pills were his only comfort now. No more soft and tender kisses from a dainty Meredith.

His mother, struggling with running an entire town as the appointed Mayor and caring for her only grandson, scolded him. She reprimanded him _physically_, until he discontinued the act of staying within his room all day—only to end up sulking in public, at bars. Or when he was feeling considerably disheartened, he'd be passed out on some grimy sidewalk.

It wasn't until his old best friend—and _rival_—Thomas brought him out of his emotionally stump. It took him eight months to climb out of his dark, disturbing hole. Every suicidal note he had ever written was tossed into the furnace; hours and hours were spent watching the flames of his words written in the depths of despair. It only took three months to slip into an easy and comfort routine. Thomas and his mother were beginning to leave him to his own devices, letting him roam the world and rebuild his empire once more.

But it took a year and two months before his mother would let him keep Gil again.

Hamilton's primary concern when he was reunited with his son was how he was going to clear up the disappearance of his wife. Explanations were never Hamilton's forte, especially if they concerned death or sex.

Yet his son was sharper than he thought. He knew. He _knew_ and he wasn't going to correct Hamilton when the bumbling man rambled on about how his mother was off teaching the deaf and blind in some unheard of third-world country. He stayed silent and played dumb, for the sake of father's anxiety and sanity. There were things he wasn't ever going to understand at his current age—but he knew better than to make the situation any harder for his recuperating father.

So, for three years, Gil played the game with his father. He pretended that he believed every single word Hamilton would fabricate for his supposed 'safety'. With encouragement from his father, Gil explored the world of education. He began to follow his mother's footsteps; with her adoration for learning and desire to spread knowledge to the supposed ill-fated and less fortunate. If only to understand the woman he affectionately called mother a smidge better—if only to appease his father.

Of course, it was only inevitable that Hamilton would opt to tell his son the truth. About how his mother wasn't traveling around, filling the world with wonders of education. About how instead, she was six feet under. Nothing but words, anxious and hurried, would tumble past his lips as he confessed his darkest tale to his son. Explaining why he wasn't there for him when his mother had departed. He had cracked from the pressure of repression.

And Gil would say nothing as his father's cries filled the night.

Near the end of middle school—the stage in which Gil drastically changed into the stoic and work-hungry man he would be known as in the future— the two managed to patch up an awkward but relatively decent relationship. Life was becoming tolerable. Though, old fears managed to dig themselves from the depths of Hamilton's mind once more. The worst had happened:

Gil had his first _wet dream_.

Hamilton could have broken down and wept for many nights to come—but his newly reformed dignity wouldn't have let him do that. He remembers it all too well…

_It had been a chilly February morning, roughly two months after Gil's thirteenth birthday. Hamilton, a man who was often struck by the "midnight munchies", had been creeping back upstairs to his room. He had just finished devouring a pint-size tub of fudge ice cream and a box of gram crackers when he decided he had gotten his fill and it was time to return to bed._

_But that's when they had collided. Hamilton had barely felt his son when said boy had bumped into his profound stomach. It was only when he heard the light thud from the hard wood floor did he realize he had knocked over his son. With the slight difficulty of the darkness that surrounded them and his tiredly functioning senses, he peered down at his the towheaded boy. His eyes were wide with fright, almost like a deer caught in the headlights. Immediately, his expression switched to a mixture of embarrassment and shame as his cheeks blossomed with blood and his trembling hands tightened over bunched up sheets._

_Confusion was the first actual emotion Hamilton felt when he realized that his son was awake at two in the morning. But, when the usually stoic blond began frantically explaining something that vaguely sounded like, "I didn't think this would happen,", "I'm too old to be still wetting the bed,", and "it must have happened earlier, because it was all sticky now," Hamilton's dark, beady eyes shoots down to his son's powder blue boxers._

_There was a wet patch on the blue material. _

_Suddenly, Hamilton is shrieking, loudly displaying the panic that's thrashing within him. Gil is startled by his father's outburst, becoming nearly as frantic as his father. _

_It doesn't help that in the next second, Hamilton ungracefully collapses onto the floor, quite unconscious. _

Ever since that day faithful, chilly February night, Hamilton deemed that there was only one way to handle this. His decision of course, was utterly irrational, but effective. He was going to instill fear, of everything and anything that was sexual, into his boy. Sexual education was going to be taught to an unnecessary extreme. He didn't bother with the silly legends like "Cooties", because Gil was _just too damn intelligent _to fool with that nonsense.

So he went all out—from the in-detail STD lectures, to the gruesome genital side shows. He dragged his son to the clinic, where he would show him suffering patients who had risked indulging in too much sex. Brothels and whore houses became a once a month field trip for the two—where Hamilton would also get in a lesson or two about the misfortunes of alcohol and drug abuse.

Everything Gil had seen could not be unseen. Nothing he had learned could be forgotten. Anything he had heard would forever haunt him.

Hamilton proceeded to mold his son, especially his interests. Somewhere in the recesses of his unsettled mind, he thought it safe to teach his son to love something more than _intimacy_. And he successfully managed it too. Gil had grown into a workaholic. There were times when he felt undeniably guilty about what he had forced his son to witness—how his son had gotten the minor quirk of a person with obsessive-compulsive disorder. It was beautiful, and Hamilton assured himself that nothing was wrong. Nothing would hurt.

He took a sickeningly twisted delight in the fact that, while all those frisky youths of Gil's generation were off unwittingly reproducing and gladly spreading disease, his stern offspring held no interest in the opposite sex—_whatsoever_. Sexual pleasure could find no domain in his heart.

Gil was utterly repulsed by it.

It was beautiful.

And **yet**, deep down in that tiny niche within his soul—_where Meredith played the chords of his hearts, with her syrupy honey flavored eyes and soft, wavy light blond curls that wound about her soft pink shaded cheek—_

Hamilton would always wonder if having a girl would have been easier.

* * *

_**Asexuality**_

* * *

His full name was Gilbert Dietrich.

To the exceedingly few associates that he had willingly allowed into his personal social web of life, he was known as Gil.

Gil was strictly a man of labor. He was the definition of neat and organized; his patience and time only worth the selected goals he possessed in life. He wasn't one for anything less than perfection, unless that's exactly what the plan called for. Yet, his plans—_those convoluted little schemes, weaved with anxious fingers and trimmed with a focused judgment_—never called for anything below flawlessness.

He had been born on _Gofre Isle_, a miniature Spanish vacation island that his parents had often visited back in their youth. He had several plans for retirement there, after he had made sure his life had gone all accordingly before he would add in any leisure time. His father, though born in America, was of German descent and his mother's family had come from Sweden during the early stages of her childhood. To put it simply enough, with a background such as that, Gil was considered attractive amongst society.

Though he couldn't blame them for believing so—he was quite handsome. With soft flaxen strands of hair combed into a tidy style and gorgeous azure pools that could read your body language as easily as a book; along with his fair skin (which had once been littered with pimples during his adolescent years) and his lither build that constantly revealed his impressive physical endurance. All this was hidden beneath his favored, refined array of clothes. From the cool-colored button-downs and plaid patterned sweater vests, to his designer slacks and well-polished dress shoes. Yes, Gil was most certainly desired by his fellow peers. But he never batted a single eye lash in their direction.

Appearances were important, but unnecessary _sexual_ attention was **not**.

Life was going accordingly for him. Recently, he had permanently moved from his one of his father's old houses to rent an apartment of his own. He paid for with the money he received from his occupation at City Hall—a job he had landed with not only his charm and intelligence, but as well with the whisper of assistance from his father's family history in politics.

But flaws would always weave their way into the quilt. Be it in-between the snares of thread or the knots of fabricated fibs, there would always be a downside to Gil's happiness.

Never once before—_never, ever, __**ever**_—did he ever have to deal with such a problematic predicament. It was a miscalculation that he quite thought he would make. He wasn't dense, but he was always well assured that nothing like this would transpire.

And to be perfectly honest, he had always assumed he was _Asexual_.

Gil wasn't sure how his miscalculation even slipped past his radar, but he needed to double-check his findings with a professional—_As soon as possible._

* * *

"And why am I not allowed to even be prescribed, at the very least, a _placebo_?" Gil prodded incessantly, his flaxen brows wrinkling in absolute distress, "What kind of doctor can't even allow his patient to _pretend_ that their receiving help?"

The man before him, who was regularly known as Doctor Jin Won to his patients, sighed dejectedly. Over half an hour later and here he was, still arguing with one Gil Dietrich.

"Because, **Mister Dietrich**, a placebo is a merely a sham medical intervention. Moreover, your dilemma isn't all that serious in the _slightest_. There is no need for a prescription, I assure you."

Gil visibly bristled at the doctor's response. He scowled in annoyance with his arms crossed over his torso. The older male rolled his dark violet eyes, promptly turning away and returning to the paper work on his desk.

"_Impossible_," Gil stressed feverishly, "This isn't just some _minor dilemma_, Won! It's a **crisis**. Setbacks like this don't happen to men like me!"

Dark violet eyes narrowed, glinting behind slim glasses as the doctor glanced back at his client.

"You're overreacting—"

"I'm **sick**."

"It's a common occurrence for _all_ men—"

"I **must** be ill then, because I'm not like the average pig that fills our pleasant streets with their idiotic _filth_." Gil remarked smoothly, barely containing his anger as he fidgeted in his seat. Gil didn't need his temper to linger along the edge of conscious. Not when he already had the anxiety slithering there. He wasn't going to play any games—even if it was with the Asian doctor he had grown to call possibly more than an acquaintance over the years.

Jin released another solemn sigh. He pushed his clipboard away from him, dreading the idea of looking at any more documents at this point. With his hands now free, he idly readjusts his pony tail. He was gifted with silky, ink colored tresses from his mother; and such delicately healthy hair could be troubling when hunching over paperwork all afternoon.

"Perhaps," Jin slowly began, his glasses tilting downward. "You are in fact ill."

The blond smirked in triumph—

"_Mentally_ ill, that is."

The smirk had dissipated as soon as it had appeared. Gil slumped back into his seat, glaring heatedly at the other; who nonchalantly shrugged, the corners of his lips curling just so.

"Why Jin," the blond spat, dropping the formalities and using the other's first name, "who knew you could be not only holding out on giving your _dearest_ patient the proper medication for what could possibly be fatal to their well-being—_but_… you're also a smartass. Wonderful."

The bespectacled doctor rolled his eyes, finally opting to actually pay attention to that paperwork he had momentarily ceased. No matter how stressed he might become from Gil's harassment, paperwork always served to be a great distraction.

"Do you honestly expect me to prescribe you a _sugar pill_ for an unplanned _erection_?" Jin deadpanned, scribbling away on the manuscripts neatly arranged on his desk. Gil blanched.

"_I hate you_." Gil mumbled dryly.

"Yet, you still pay me for every ridiculous infirmity you seem to have."

In response, Jin earned a pitiful groan from the blond. Exhaling nosily, Gil abruptly arose from his seat. He shuffled toward the door, expression aghast as he realized that Jin was certainly not going to help him.

The scratching of the pencil ceased, low muttering following right after.

"Gil."

The towheaded male halted at the threshold, a small flaxen curl on top of his head bouncing with his sudden pause.

"Yes?"

Gil could feel Jin's eyes watching him carefully; as if he was analyzing what he might plan to do next. Clever decision, being that Gil always planned ahead. His fingers twitched against the knob. His was body teeming with anxiety.

"You realize there are _other_ methods of handling your discomfort, right?"

For some reason, Gil didn't like the sound of that.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Hi. I exist. Changed my name from Blubber Nuggets to TickleMeRainbow too…

I revised it—at three in the morning. Yeah, I should be more focused on His Glass Slippers, shouldn't I? But, I think that's a dead horse. I'm sorry. I promise to beat it another time. Also, since it's so late at night, the style was taken into a more… realistic light? I'm going to try and make the next chapters (after the revised, current chapters) darker, sexier, and _alive_. –bricked—

My reason for this is that, I need to practice more. More than ever if I plan to do something as tedious as _write_ in my near-future. Not that I wouldn't mind sitting back and brain-puking absolute bullshit onto a computer _err-day, all day_.

Oh. And I lost my beta…Anybody up for the task? And uh, if you're chill with the revision and actually want to see more, then I will pump them out like a boss. Because I actually have a resolve to complete.

Sweet lord. I'm tired.


	2. Specialist

**Summary: **_Gil Centric. __"__**Love**__!? I am NOT in love—especially not with __her. __I just can't...keep __**it**__ in my pants. That's all."_

**Disclaimer: **Do not, will not, and won't never ever own _Harvest Moon_.

**Enjoy.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Swallowing thickly, azure eyes surveyed the waitress sauntering toward his table located outside the standard and cozy building; Gil mentally scolded himself for coming back to this horrid place. As a matter of fact, this is where his trouble commenced. Nevertheless, this Café had astounding Vanilla caramel coffee…

Sipping away at the warm liquid while streaks of steam drifted round his face and into the mildly chilly air, Gil felt knots twist in the pit of his stomach. Along with his usual drink, something _else_ was warming him up. He had tried so very hard to avoid this place, because there was no way in _hell_ he'd do what Jin had recommended he'd do.

"_You realize there are _other_ methods of handling your discomfort, right?"_

_For some reason, Gil didn't like the sound of that. _

"_Masturbation," Jin advised uncompromisingly, returning back to his work, "And perhaps a cold shower would do as well."_

_And indeed, Gil wasn't very fond of Jin's suggestion. After bluntly shouting his refusal to do such a… thwarting technique, he hastily made his way out of Jin's office in unreserved discomfort. Said discomfort eventually ebbed away, only to be replaced with aggravation on his drive back to City Hall. Nothing was more extraordinary than Gil and his apparent road rage. He had nearly collided with an aged, plump woman who had been waddling across the street at an inaccurate time._

_Sure, Gil knew what the act was—but ever since he was an adolescent, Gil was convinced touching himself like __**that **__would be degrading and utterly revolting. The only time he ever bothered with 'it', was when he needed to bathe; otherwise, they barely encountered each other. So he presumed he'd have to devise his own way to keep this from happening again._

_Admittedly, he knew running away would be a bit cowardly, but real men knew how to pick their battles. Or at least that's what he told himself for the past week as he attempted to continue on with his life. It never happened, and he was going to make sure it wouldn't ever happen again._

_Another defect had revealed itself by the start of the second week of his evasion of the Café. Elli, an adorably and sugary-sweet woman he occasionally worked with, had approached him with a task. She claimed to have a bit of a workload for the day and was in desperate need for some caffeine in her system in order to finish up for the day._

_Oddly enough, when he was about to instantly response with an 'I'm busy' excuse, he found himself guilt-ridden by her pleading, liquid-brown eyes, to which were accompanied by dark circles underneath them. He couldn't bear the thought of being a totally jackass to the resident sweetheart, so he complied with her wish._

Consequently, the flaxen blond found himself seated outside the vile Café—after being coaxed into buying his favorite drink by the cunning owner (who happened to also be his Cousin) Carl—shamelessly observing the way the waitress' hips swayed.

At first, Gil hadn't paid the waitress attention at all. She was cute, but he found her boring and a wee bit _childish_ for his tastes. Not that he actually had a certain type of woman in the first place. Women got in the way of work, along with the fact that they were all harpies from hell. However, there had been something different about her when he came in one day.

He had always been vigilant, permanently the one who focused on the details. He just never focused on the details of a _woman_. Whilst he chatted away (more like ranting about how much he despised a particular co-worker of his) with his Cousin, Katie—the candid and outgoing waitress of his Cousin's Café—had strolled out from the back kitchen. Gil noticed an air of confidence and an alteration in her attire.

Katie had discarded her stylish knee-high boots in favor of appealing little slippers and exposing her creamy legs with a much shorter, frilly black skirt than the norm. The white blouse had seemed almost the same with the black vest, minus the sleeves which revealed her smooth shoulder and arms; the only thing that remained was her signature Raspberry Rose ribbons that divided two pairs of three large ginger curls.

As she skipped over to them, her curls bouncy with each energetic step, she had already been trying to ask Carl about something. Katie had stopped right next to Gil, batting her eyelashes at her boss as she let her deep sky blue irises handle the rest. It was in that moment, did Gil realize something about her face. She was wearing lip gloss.

Alright, so naturally, there isn't usually anything **that** special about lip gloss. Truth be told, Katie wore it all the time. But there had been a rather abnormal difference about this kind of lip gloss. It seems that her mouth had been freshly coated with the waxy lip balm, for it made her lips appear soft, moist, and _extra pink_. The ginger female had shuffled closer him, having slammed her hands on the counter as she tried persuading his cousin a bit more forcefully.

In that exact second, Gil identified a faint minty flavor, the light scent invading his unwilling nostrils. There had been a sudden click somewhere in his mind, and the blond found himself automatically addicted to the aroma. Within the next few seconds, everything became a blur and it was only when Carl had called his name, did he become aware of what he was thinking of.

Gil never knew he could think so… _lewdly_. He also prayed to the lord that it wouldn't happen again.

"Hey Gilly!" a certain female voice addressed him with that ridiculous nickname, "Are ya enjoying your drink?"

Too bad it was about to happen again.

Gil weakly nodded, trying anxiously to avoid staring at her while she had her attention on him. He wasn't about to get caught ogling by the girl herself. In an effort to distract himself, Gil drowned the last of his sweetened coffee. Katie then took the chance to seat herself down beside him, smiling with lips smeared in that addictively scented waxy glop.

"Looks like you've finished it up, Gilly. Want me to get you another?" she chirped, her mirrored in deep sky blue eyes. He grimaced at this, settling on staring at the pavement instead.

"No, I'm fine Katie." He mumbled feebly, azure eyes unfortunately wandering over the very light tone of fine legs that did not precisely belong to him. That was when he unconsciously tuned her out, only just hearing her ask why he hadn't visited the Café, like he typically did, last week.

Unexpectedly, he found himself leaning closer, his nose trying to get a better whiff of the minty lip gloss. It was only when Katie had gingerly placed her hand on his shoulder and gave him a firm shake, did he snap out of his stupor. Gil visibly paled, his eyes widening recognition of what was about to unfold—Again.

Incoherently grumbling under his breath, the blond hurriedly left a bewildered Katie. The girl seemed even more baffled when she took full notice in his awkward stride…

* * *

Jin idly stretched, satisfied by soft 'popping' from his back. Doing numerous amounts of paperwork at the Clinic hadn't been so good for his spine. It also didn't help that he already had back problems when he was in college. He removed his glasses, cautiously setting them onto his desk. He lightly sighed, letting his eyelids flutter close—

Dark violet eyes snapped open, the poor Asian man startled by his office door being vehemently opened. Standing there, flaxen locks in disarray and face flushing with both anger and humiliation, was Gil.

Sooner than Jin being able to question why the blond had abruptly stomped into his office, Gil was speedily moving over to his cabinet while babbling insanely.

"I can't _stand_ it, Jin!" Gil snarled, rummaging rudely around the medical cabinet quite expertly. Their friendship had it perks, as well as Gil's minor OCD. He'd sometimes organize things for Jin, even if the other didn't ask him too. "And don't you _dare_ say I'm overreacting! I will NOT allow this pathetic mishap happen again!"

Albeit, Gil wasn't the unstable type, he did tend to blow things out of proportion—especially when it was tied with anything particularly sexual. By the time Jin had risen from his chair, Gil had found what he was looking for. It was a syringe; filled with what Jin knew was Anesthetic.

Jin cocked a brow, "Gil? What… are you doing?" he asked uncertainly, eyeing the syringe Gil held millimeters away from his groin.

"_It_ used to be such a good boy!_ It_ never did anything ludicrous like this before!" Gil cried frantically, the left side of his face twitching, "_It_ always behaved, Jin! **Always**."

"Gil, numbing out your genital… isn't going to solve anything." the Asian struggled to reason with the fretting blond, previously having grabbed his glasses and was now resting them on the brim of his nose.

"You don't understand, Jin!" the blond quickly spat, glowering at the doctor, "I'd rather do this than pleasuring myself every time it happens. It'll become a nasty little habit, and then I'll just be like the rest of them. Like the thousands of sick bastards that touch themselves everyday like premature, horny teenage boys!"

Speechless, Jin decided he was better off trying to take the syringe away from the other; but that wasn't happening, since Gil held it so threatening and ready.

"Gil—"

"No."

Jin could only sigh in defeat, his once outstretched arms coming to hang limply beside his body. Conceivably it seemed Gil needed to learn the hard way, the painfully (yet not so painfully) hard way. As the needle was inched closer to the blonde's groin, Gil just about ready to stab lower half and move on with his life—there was yet another miscalculation in his plans.

"What. The. _**Hell**_?"

* * *

_**Specialist**_

* * *

Present at the threshold to Jin's office, was none other than what Gil assumed to be a wannabe Lumberjack with a juvenile mien judging by the tacky flame patterned bandana nestled on shaggy—and somehow _dark blue_—hair. His right arm was encased in an upper extremity cast, being supported by a cast sling that was slung over a portion of his neck.

"Luke," Jin recovered first from the two, who were stunned by said male's appearance. He was actually very pleased with Luke's accidental arrival. "What are you doing here?"

"I...wanted to ask if I could put flames on my cast…" he replied hesitantly, eyeing Gil with strangely bright, golden irises. Thick, dark blue brows furrowed, "why… why the _fu—"_

"Luke, Language." Jin interrupted sharply.

"—the hell is he holding that needle to his _junk_?"

Puzzlement was etched on Gil's face, the blond having not understood Luke's 'terminology'. "_My what_?"

Jin rubbed his temples; Gil should have seriously never asked that. The dark haired male had made that mistake once, and regretted wholly so when he did. Luke had a weird way of explaining things.

Rising a brow in disbelief before furrowing them, Luke gestured to his lower abdomen with his good arm. "You know," he jutted his hips, trying to make it pretty clear, "The _ding dong_."

"What Wong?" the towheaded male repeated incorrectly.

"The dork, dude— the doughnut holder, firm worm, free Willy, hairy bagpipes," Luke halted briefly, golden eyes scanning the ceiling as he thought. "John Thomas."

Gil glanced over at Jin questioningly, perplexed beyond belief; As well as mouthing 'who's John Thomas?' Jin silently shook his head, refusing to say anything as he wearily sat back down in his chair.

"Joy stick," Luke added optimistically, evidently nowhere near done. "Love muscle, love stick, meat, one-eyed trouser snake, pecker, pork sword, salty dog—"

Gradually, Gil had been piecing all the outlandish names together in order to figure out what Luke's main idea was. Although he was naturally clever, he could be awfully naïve when it came to updated slang terms. The syringe was momentarily forgotten, Gil distractedly leaving it on Jin's desk so he could tap his chin; a habit of his whenever he thought.

"—Trouser trout, throbbing python of love," Luke was grinning devilishly at the blond, who's face turned into pure shock and disgust when he finally caught on, "And my personal favorite, _Wife's best friend_."

At this, Jin shook his head in disapproval, which only made the obviously vulgar male burst into a deep guffaw. Gil scrunched his nose, sickened by the wannabe lumberjack's knowledge on the subject of genital nicknames. Azure eyes narrowed, to which Luke chortled louder at; an inwardly fuming Gil treaded heavily out of the office without another word. Like Gil would actually stay in the same room with such a moronic jerk for so long.

Once Gil had finally gone, Jin released a low sigh, already stressed out by the idea of having to deal with _Luke_ now. The last of Luke's chuckles died down, before he ambled across the room and parked himself on top of Jin's desk. He smiled innocently as he took one of the pens on the desk, twirling it skillfully in his left hand. His eyes were half lidded, as he watched Jin pretend to ignore him.

"So," he drawled, stretching out the 'o' just to add to Jin's annoyance, "How about those flames I came here for?"

* * *

_When Gil had stormed back into City Hall, his arms flailing about as he went on about some 'sickening wannabe lumberjack', was when realization hit him like a ton of bricks. He'd forgotten Elli's latte at the Café. As a wave of guilt waved over him, the knot in his stomach tightened when the tender brunette bounced into the room, a sleepy smile on her heart-shaped face._

_Relief was unmistakably in her tone as she inquired him timidly, "You were gone for a while. I was worried something might have happened to you. They say that there's been a wee bit of traffic lately, and I know you've got a bit of road rage from time to time."_

_Gil silently groaned, pleading his brain to produce an excellent lie, although the voice in his head scolded him for even _thinking_ of lying to this saint. Frowning, Gil nervously kneaded his hands as he looked the woman straight in the eye._

"_Something had come up—I, uh, had to see my doctor about… a personal problem." He didn't think he could fib anyway, not with all the dignity he possessed. It was vague, but all truth._

_Elli's brow knitted together, her warm eyes overflowing with concern. "Oh? Gil, you've been having problem? Why what's wrong—"_

_He cut in quickly, forcing a smile on his face, "It's nothing serious, so don't worry about it too much. I'll try making it up to you."_

"_What? Oh no, Gil it's fine—"_

"_No," he interjected again, shaking his head whilst the knot tightened further and created a nauseating feeling in his gut, "We can go Thursday, and I'll treat you to some coffee."_

Gilbert Dietrich wasn't what many would call a flirt. He didn't do anything of the sort. In fact, he thought naught of it at all. He wanted to be kind to her, and nothing more than that. However, he was about to be enlighten on the subject in a matter of minutes.

Meticulous digits massaged sore muscles, as the blond laid face up on his plush bed. Having just woken up, Gil was still quite groggy and undeniably raw; like every other morning. He supposed it was stress that made him tender every early hour of the day, but it wasn't anything new, so he knew he'd just have to deal with it.

Woozily, he began the day with his daily routine with the morning wash-up. As soon as he was over and done with that, he tiredly dressed himself in his preferred navy blue sweater vest and forest green slacks. He was a polished boy growing up, and he was going to keep up his clean visage as long as he would.

After giving himself a once-look over on his appearance, Gil wearily ran his fingers through ruffled flaxen locks. Sometimes, beautifying yourself was _far_ too much work.

* * *

Azure eyes blinked confusedly, meeting the simple face of a smiley on the smiley-printed Band-Aid. Puckering his brows, Gil concentrated on where the Band-Aid was located: which happened to be on the nose of… _a wannabe lumberjack_.

"…and you are here because?" Gil asked, unexpectedly riled up by this undesired visit from someone he thought he'd never see again—actually…

"How do you even know where I live?" he said incredulously, not liking the way Luke lazily grinned before waving him off with his left hand.

"Jin told me, Mr. Prude." The blue haired male explained idly, golden eyes checking out what little he could see of Gil's apartment. "Doc's pretty intelligent if he knows that a _genius_ like me can handle a problem as simple as yours."

Gil's eyes darkened, mentally noting that he would have to _skin Jin alive_ the next time saw him, "I don't _need_ help with anything; and I certainly don't need help from the likes of _you_."

Luke pouted for a split second, before he switched to a rather serious look, reprimanding Gil as if they had been talking about something else, "Don't be so ashamed, man. You just got to let it hang!"

Gil shuddered at the horrid rhyme, averting his eyes when Luke began thrusting his hips in a circular motion. Right in front of _his door_ too. What would the neighbors think!? Gil shot Luke a cross look.

"Get out," he grumbled sourly, pushing the other male out of his way as he closed the door behind him. He wasn't in the mood for this, and he defiantly wasn't going to be late to work because of _this_.

He paused in his mid air thrust, slyly smirking as the blond trudged away from him. "I wouldn't run if I was you man," he straightened up, doing a mock-salute, "Resistance is futile!"

…

"_Did Gil seriously just get __**kidnapped**__?" Elli asked her fellow female co-worker worriedly, taken back by the random abduction of her blond one. The woman shrugged, huffing gallingly._

"_Don't know; but that kidnapper was hot."_

…

Gil blinked.

There, in the dish rack, was a plastic jug of lemonade. The blond voiced his concerns.

"Luke, why is the lemonade in the dish rack?" he questioned calmly. You see, when Luke had turned up uninvited to City Hall, declaring that it was time for Gil's first lesson—Gil's natural response consisted of swearing (in both English and German) loudly and threatening to call security on his ass. To this, Luke countered with simply hauling him over his left shoulder, and waving goodbye to Gil's co-workers as he headed to his truck. Although he had been showing signs of discomfort (as well as saying that Gil needed to lay off the "nerd snacks") he seemed perfectly fine with carrying an adult man on his shoulder with a broken arm.

It was a wonder how Luke was even able to drive—though he did say something about being born ambidextrous and just being plain _awesome_. This lead to the tale of how he broke his right arm in the first place, something Gil would admit to being mildly curious about.

_Gil arched his brow, not amused by Luke's arrogance for his natural ambidexterity. Surprising enough, Luke spoke before Gil could ask what had been plaguing his mind for the past 20 minutes._

"_I broke it while hacking trees with my pops and Bo." His face held a fond expression, a tiny smile dancing on his lips, "Dad said 'don't do it, boy. You'll only get yourself hurt if you try this stupid idea'._

_But, I never listen to my old man," Luke callous hand gripped the steering wheel, amusement evident in his eyes. "Not when I know it'll be the most awesome idea I've ever come up with! Though, I'll have to admit it was a little stupid."_

_Azure eyes rolled impatiently, sourly urging the other to continue, "And what exactly did you do, Luke?"_

_Luke sheepishly smile, removing his hand from the wheel (luckily, the light had been red) to scratch his cheek awkwardly, "I kind of, tried chopping down the tree upside-down."_

_Gil didn't even bother asking why._

After an hour-drive later, Gil deemed that he'd just play along for now; and then call the police when Luke returned him to his home. Yet, there was just something about Luke's apartment that peeved him so.

It was disorganized—chaotic even. The blond was pretty sure he saw a pair of flaming (he saw that coming) boxers nailed to the wall when he first came in. He wasn't given enough time to fully examine Luke's disorderly abode, for said male had ushered him into the kitchen for a second. He said he had a _surprise_.

As if on cue from hearing his name, Luke appeared; lopsided grin and all.

"So _that's_ where I left it!" he chirped, not bothering to restore it to its proper place. He then processed to shove Gil into the living room. Bitterly scowling, Gil dumped himself onto the sofa. He instantly regretted it once Luke clicked on the television and the room was filled with moans.

"_Luke_!" Gil hissed, grabbing the sofa pillow in fear as he gaped at the screen. "What the _hell_ are you showing me!?"

"Porn," Luke replied nonchalantly, watching the video with little interest. "First step is to turn you on, thus enforcing you to deal with your 'excited friend' since you won't be able to escape without me tackling you to the ground."

Quietly gawking at the 'justification' of the situation he was unwillingly being forced to do, Gil clutched the pillow apprehensively, eyes widen in terror despite the fact they were only five minutes into the video. The blond felt queasy as his stomach violently turned, shaky hands badly trying to cover his eyes.

…

As the pornographic film commenced, Gil was absolutely mortified. His cheeks were burning red, his bangs clinging to his forehead from his collective sweating. He felt so _sick_, yet at the same time there was an unfamiliar tingle pulsating through-out his body. He was dizzy, his mind swimming with repulsive thoughts. It also didn't help that Luke seemed to be barely paying attention to the movie, and didn't appear in least fazed by the revolting things they were doing in the movie. How could that sick bastard just _sit_ there, like NOTHING… while he felt like some awkward little boy performing in his underwear on stage; In front of millions as well.

Gil whimpered hugging the pillow tight as the credits finally rolled. Luke clicked off his TV, throwing the remote ungracefully to his side, while he shot the blond a curious look.

"Well? Did you like it?"

Gil released a noise similar to a whine and a curse.

"Hmm? What was that?" Luke leant forward, his hand cupping his ear.

"I-I hate you."

Luke's thick brows wrinkled in puzzlement, left hand coming up to scratch his cheek, "You're not horny after watching that?"

The blonde's face turned a darker shade of red, his lips forming a thin and tight line. He was far more traumatized than when his father showed him anything.

"Oh!" Luke's mouth made a tiny 'o' before he inquired the other again, worry laced in his voice, "Is it because you don't know how to… you know? Or maybe you're gay and I've been going about this the wrong way—"

Gil groaned, burying his face into the pillow in shame. Somehow, he had a feeling it was only going to get worse.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**A/N:** _I don't know HOW this chapter came to be… but I actually had to cut it which lead to me writing… a rushed ending here. And I even decided to change the title name, because what I planned to happen in this chapter didn't happen yet. _

_Now, to explain myself before any of you try to stone me to death; we'll start with the whole Carl-Katie-Café thing. First, I'd like to point out that for some reason, I can always picture Carl from MM being Gil's cousin or something. I don't know why. Furthermore, I had never wanted to use Katie in the first place. I hadn't even thought of her, until I mentioned Carl. I had originally wanted to just Selena, but I've decided to bring her in another part of the story. I'd also like to point out, what my Asian beta said: Luna plus Gil equals love. Luna equals little girl. Katie also equals little girl. Gil plus little girl always equals love. So Gil plus Katie equals love as well. Overall, Gil equals pedo._

_So I figured it'd be alright after being told that… XD! Anyway, I hope no one was upset with how I portrayed Gil in this chapter. You see, I wanted to describe and show how much _fear_ he has when anything revolves around sexual intercourse or mere arousal. I wanted to show you, the readers, how much his father had __**succeeded **__in what he'd been trying to do in the first place. I realize that it's possible to harbor no interest in people, but I also realize that it'll eventually come down the road. This, Gil wasn't exactly prepared for. So, of course—he freaked. So, it might be a while before Gil can actually accept any sexual desires and relationships._

_I'd also like to admit I'm a bit nervous how you'll all react to the way I've molded Luke. It's just something about "She can spank me" that automatically sets a person's personality; as well as him commented how hot newly brides are… and just the Japanese Luke X Selena scenes in AP in general. How can I NOT make him the way he is? The idea of him being a big ol' pervert… just fits so perfectly in my head. **twiddles fingers** I can't recall anything else I wanted to inform you all about, aside from the fact that I'll try and have the next chapter up by Christmas or so. _

_If you're curious about anything else concerning the story in a whole—as well being willing to offer ideas of certain events or characters you'd like to appear—I'd appreciate it if you wrote it in your review. ^^;; A PM's fine as well._

**.Blubber Nuggets.**


	3. Equilibrium

**Summary: **_Gil Centric. __"__**Love**__!? I am NOT in love—especially not with __her. __I just can't...keep __**it**__ in my pants. That's all."_

**Disclaimer: **Do not, will not, and won't never ever own _Harvest Moon_.

**Enjoy.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

A well-built male was hunched over a miniature desk, cradling the handset of his office telephone between his shoulder and ear. He shifted in his stiff rolling chair, cursing the world for making him a giant but giving him exceedingly tiny objects to work with. Dropping his drafting pencil, he ran his bulky fingers through jerky, rust spikes; a stressful groan slipping passed his lips.

"What is it now, Luke?" he grounded out irritably, drumming his fingers on the rigid tabletop. Usually, he was never this angered when it came to Luke's whining and the thousands of favors that the dark black-blue haired male would claim as 'essential' or 'life-threatening if not completed'. It was just the way Luke was. Though, when you haven't had a single alcoholic beverage for about two weeks and you're dealing with a bunch of jerk-offs as co-workers—you'd be a little grouchy too.

Albeit, your 'grouchiness' increases by a tenfold when you're… a _slight_ alcoholic.

"_Owen! I need your help!" _

Owen winced, not quite understanding how an adult man with a voice like Luke's can sound like a spoiled little girl whining about one thing or another. It will forever stay a mystery to him as long as Luke was Luke.

"I figured as much, but let's get a little more specific before I hang up, okay?" he retorted crossly, biting the inside of his cheek when guilt slapped him in the face. He was a good guy, a really nice boy at heart. So of course he wouldn't want to get all snarky with one of his best friends from back in the day.

"_Aw," _Luke mockingly cooed,_ "Baby want his liquor?"_

"I'm hanging up now—"

"_Dude," _–Owen rolled his onyx eyes when he heard Luke nervously chuckle—_"I'm kidding man, now listen up… please and thank you. I met this uptight guy at Jin's when I went for my Friday check-up and crap, you know?"_

Owen cocked a brow, propping his head onto his hand, "Luke, you kind of sound like Kat when she's found a guy she wants to make her boyfriend." There was a gasp.

"_God forbid! What would Joe say?"_

Owen cracked a smile, sniggering at the inside joke, "He'd probably call you a cheating whore, then try to get revenge by sleeping with Rock or something."

"_Pffft, then he'd be banging the originator of STDs."_

"Are you calling Rock a monkey?" the bulky male asked teasingly. Luke scoffed.

"_Rock was human? Dude parties harder than me and half of the crap he babbles sounds like monkey-speech to me."_

Owen snickered, making a grab for his pencil so he could continue with his sketch; knowing Luke, they were going to be on the phone for a while. That, and _knowing Luke_, he might laugh a bit louder than intended and draw attention. He might as well work while he was forced to listen up.

"_Anyway, enough about our chino dude—back to my uptight guy. See, Jin told me he's an extremist on being a prude, and you know me dude. I need to help a fellow bro out whenever I see the chance. Besides, sex is __**awesome**__! Though, not as—"_

"—Awesome as you, right?" Owen finished off sarcastically, onyx eyes playfully rolling.

"_Owen my man, you're learning."_

Owen snorted, sort of wishing he hadn't just stroked his friend's ego further, "You were saying, Luke?"

"_Yeah, yeah, I was saying: So I decided I'd help a bro and blah, blah, blah. I kidnap the dude—"_

"—Luke, you can't keep kidnapping people. This has to be the sixth—"

"_I didn't know you were keeping up with my track record, buddy._"

"I couldn't even if I tried. Your dad's left me in charge of that since your last scheme."

"_Oh! Did I tell you I broke my arm?_"

"Let me guess, tried to chop a tree upside-down, right?"

"_Aw, you know me so well!"_—though it was barely audible, Owen heard it, smiling slightly—_"Unlike Joe, who nagged me for not bringing him…"_

"Uh-huh, look Luke. I need you to tell me where I come in, in this grand adventure of yours, or I'm hanging up."

"_Well…"_

That was never good.

* * *

Three days.

Smoothing the chestnut, beige, white, and pale teal, abstract patterned bed sheets out on his bed, Gil heaved a sigh. It had been three days straight since that traumatizing experience with Luke and the strangely midnight blue haired male's bold move to shove porno right before Gil's poor eyes.

It had been three days exactly, since Gil refused to leave his beloved abode.

The blond had spent the first two days, enveloped by his monstrous chestnut comforter; shuddering and whimpering whenever the images from that horrid movie haunted him. After crying himself to sleep every night, he would feel exhausted the next morning. He would scoot deeper into the sheets, wanting to shield his weak morning eyes from the ridiculously bright rays of the day.

The third day was around the time he began recuperating. It was a slow process, busy with tidying his apartment. Cleaning was always how he bettered himself. It soothed him deeply to scrub away stains and germs. It was one of the few things he felt, well, that he could _control_.

Clicking his tongue on the roof of his month, the blond psychologically chastised himself for being such a child about his. Hiding in his house and _sulking_. He'd gone and missed work all three days too!

"_But it was horrific, what we saw!"_

The blond flinched at his mind's retort. He couldn't help but wholeheartedly agree with it. As his thoughts wandered slightly, he wondered if Jin could fix mental scars as well.

Gnawing at the bottom of his lip, Gil shook his head. It wasn't possible. Lord, staying inside the apartment… and just _thinking_—it wasn't a good idea, not considering who he was. Gil over-thought things, frequently; something he knew wasn't very healthy. He really regrets not at least going to work those days…

There was a knock on his window, to which brought a scowl upon Gil's lips. Another reason as to why he made no effort to leave.

There was no way he was going to face that insufferable idiot ever again.

"Dude," the first vowel of the overused nickname was stretched annoyingly, Gil's scowl deepening as he tentatively arranged his throw pillows atop of his bed, "Why are you still hiding from me? I'm just trying to say sorry!"

Gill shot the prescient male a cross look, traveling toward his window, inwardly wishing his curtains weren't in the washer right now. Azure eyes narrowed, watching as Luke rubbed his face into the glass, smearing perspiration all over his perfectly translucent casement. Understandably, it had been particularly hot today—so a little sweat on the blockhead's part wasn't entirely his fault, it was just a heavily humid day. Of course, that gave Luke no reason to wipe retard sweat all over his property.

Tuning out the rest of Luke's mindless banter, the blond hastily made his way to the tiny supplies closet in the hallway. Every cleaning tool known to man was located neatly within that closet. It was even alphabetized; the organization of it all, utterly flawless.

Lined against the walls of the miniature room, he had your vacuum cleaner, mop and bucket, Mopping solution , an oddly shaped dustpan, broom, and polish—sponges, paper towels, cleaning clothes, Scrubbers, disposable gloves, baking soda—trash bags in multiple sizes, trash liners for his reusing pleasure, and several different kinds of "back-up" recycling bins. Gil wasn't ever the type to stick with just an All-Purpose Cleaner. He preferred having his various cleaners, opting that he would only use the All-Purpose cleaner on _special _occasions.

See, in Gil's cozy little abode: he had several surfaces that need a little extra TCL when it was cleaning day. So he felt if he had a variety, he wouldn't only get the job done, but he would get it done the _right_ way.

"Oven cleaner, stove cleaner, dish soap, dish detergent," azure eyes scanning the products lined together side by side, a mass amount of colors if you looked from afar. "Wood Polish, Upholstery spot remover, Laundry Soap, laundry Stain remover… toilet… bowl cleaner… a-air fresheners… b-b-bleach…" Gil's voice began to crack, his azure eyes boring into the only empty spot among the thousands of house cleansers. He could have cried right about now.

"N-no… glass cleaner—NO, GLASS CLEANER," he howled, launching himself at his little closet, hurriedly searching around for aforementioned product. "WHY. IS. THERE. NO. GLASS. CLEANER!?"

In the span of about two minutes (almost three, but Gil had soon took notice of the mess) bottles were broken, strong scented chemicals were spilled—and poor little Gil sat there, in utter disarray.

He wept for several minutes; time lost to the blond, a headache blossoming in the depths of his cranium, before hoisting the mop off the floor to clean up his mess.

* * *

_**Equilibrium**_

* * *

"Luke… where's my car?" Gil jeered, his shoulders shaking lightly from both anger toward the midnight blue fool and the mini break down a little earlier.

Luke blinked owlishly, scratching the tip of his nose idly, "You mean that light blue _Porsche_, right?"—Gil raised a brow, wondering how on earth he even knew that—"'cause you left that at City Hall."

For some reason, the people upstairs hated Gil; or at least seemed quite fond of messing around with him lately. He had not only irresponsibly left his automobile in a public area—where it could be _stolen_—but now he had to…

_Take a ride with Luke_.

Sure, you could say something like: "Why doesn't he just _walk_ to the store instead of pick the path of impending doom?" Well, my darlings, Gil doesn't live as close as he would like to any shopping center. He also doesn't fancy the chance of getting robbed, kidnapped, or murdered. You should all also take into account that—

Gil doesn't _do_ 'walking'. Enough said.

* * *

"This doesn't mean anything, alright?"

"Alright."

"I just need you to drop me off at the store, take me back home so I can clean the window you've rubbed your germs on, and lastly, I need you to drop me off at work."

"Rodger Dodger."

"After that, we will **never** associate _ever_ again."

"'Kay."

"Most importantly, this does not, repeat **not**—"

"—Not—"

Gil rolled his eyes.

"—Mean we're friends. Understand?"

"Mhmm."

Azure eyes glared heatedly at the lopsided grin stretched upon Luke's face.

"I don't think you understand." Gil muttered wryly.

"Oh I understand." Luke lazily replied, the grin still in place.

10:21, 10:22

10:24

"Trilliani,"

"Excuse me?"

"My name's Luke Trilliani."

Gil snorted, highly un-amused as he slouched back against his seat, arms folded across his chest. "What did I say?" he said flatly, staring out the window uninterestedly.

Quirking a thick eyebrow, Luke causally pronouncing what he _thought_ Gil had said, "Something about it always raining in England… and banana pudding!" His gold eyes brighten considerably at the mention of (what Gil believed to be) his favorite dessert.

"Incorrect," the blond deadpanned, "I clearly stated earlier that we are **not** going to become friends."

Luke's brows furrowed in befuddlement for a good second, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, before he asked suspiciously, "What does telling you my name have to do with becoming friends?"

"It has to do with everything! First we're trading surnames, subsequently we're skipping around the malls with foolish miniature dogs in our matching man-purses, and then we'll start slicing our palms in some ridiculous 'blood' brothers' ritual!" Gil clarified in a jagged tone.

It was at that point, Luke wasn't sure if he should have been offended—he already had a best friend, and would NEVER cheat on him—or if he should laugh at the fact the other had said 'man-purses'.

He chose the latter.

Gil bristled, "Why the hell are you laughing?"

Luke was in hysterics; his left hand twisting the steering wheel carelessly as he ignored the cross looks the blond was giving him. He would have doubled over in fit of mirth, if he hadn't been, oh, driving.

"Dude—_what_?" his laughter escalated, irking the blond further.

Hissing a simple "I hate you," Gil slumped deeper into his seat.

* * *

"_Look Gil," Luke rushed over to the flaxen blond, holding a small carton of unknown pills. His golden irises glinted mischievously. Gil turned toward him automatically, a first aid jammed between his arm and side._

"_What is it _now_, Luke?"_

"_It's Viagra!"_

_The blood was drained from his face, yet only a second later did it return in a tenfold; his cheeks flaring brightly. He was both embarrassed and infuriated, the blond stiffly walking away to the counter. _

_Gil will begin to wonder why he told Luke his name—along with the many horrible thoughts he would try out on Luke when they got back to the truck._

* * *

"Mind telling me why you missed work the past few days?"

There was a definite _crack_, a poor Number Two pencil snapped in half by a peeved blond. Two very unfortunate and unplanned things occurred in the last twenty minutes. One; his _Porsche_ was not there, but instead "borrowed" (he _knew_ it would get stolen!) by his (_pigheaded_) father two days ago. Two—

Luke was now his "chauffeur" for the next _few weeks_. Gil was also expected to go on a lunch date with the buffoon.

_Now_, he was about to be harassed by that Vixen—

"Hmm, Mister Dietrich do you possess hearing difficulties similar to that of your father?" a (_loathsome_) soft voice called out to him, a tiny hand resting upon his shoulder. He resisted the urge to cringe. He had to force a smile on his lips when he felt her (_vile_) presence shift closer. From the corner of his eyes, he could see the Queen of bitches herself.

As a Queen, though said with spitefulness on Gil's part, she was quite the divine woman strolling around City Hall. She was one the lucky females, the type that would never need any cosmetics—she was just naturally beautiful. Unblemished skin, delicate shape; she was basically the perfect woman. Lengthy tendrils the shade of ebony bypassing her dainty shoulders, occasionally a tinge of dark blue (what was with people and their strangely blue colored hair lately?) on the most luminous of days; a pale yellow headband hindering stray strands from falling onto her face. Deep sepia irises accompanied by long lush, eyelashes. Dear lord, he—

He hated her guts. She was a bitch from hell damn it! She was…

She was Maria Avis, The daughter of the current mayor, Theodore Avis. Which brings us to the actual reason Gil detests her. Her bumbling father had beaten his own father several months back. Only because of her cunning wit did they win; which shouldn't have happened considering he was far more superior than that blasted woman. Sure, he admires her skills, but he knows _she cheated_ during the election. 'Tis why he wishes she would trip on her expensive heels and land face first into a puddle of mud. SO then she too can taste… defeat.

"No, Avis." Gil murmured sweetly, biting his tongue to refrain from calling her anything else. "I'm just a little over worked lately. And concerning the days I was absent, I was busy with some private family matters."

"And what about filling out the—"

"Forms, right? Yes, yes Avis. I can assure you I've got all my paperwork filled out." Gil cut in quickly, knowing full well it would upset her more than anything. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some formalities to attend to, being that I was not in attendance and what not."

The smell of lilacs wafted over to his nose, Maria's perfectly filed nails digging into the cloth of his shirt, as if they were searching from skin. Gil felt the pointed tip of her index and pointer finger before she jerked backwards.

"Very well, Mister Dietrich—we're all dreadfully eager that of your return." He could feel her seemingly harmless smile, her dark eyes watching him closely. As he listened to clicking of her heels grow fainter by the second, a small sigh emitted from his lips when he could hear no more. Gil groaned loudly, burying his face in his palms.

Lunch with Luke was sounding pretty good right about now.

…

Who was he kidding?

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**A/N: **I'M SO SORRY. I said before Christmas and this comes out a month later. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'M SORRY. I feel so guilty right now. Things have just been incredibly hectic lately, and I've been more tired than usual. It's becoming sort of a problem; especially since I crashed during my Spanish essay. T_T

Enough about my little life—let's focus on today's chapter. I can't remember anything I wanted to precisely address… because I'm WAY too tired right now. XD I wouldn't be surprised if the ending of this chapter has some errors. I apologize if it does. My Asian beta went to bed before me… :c From what I remember, I was going to explain why I picked Maria… as Gil's nemesis—if you will—instead of… well ... anyone else in the game. Both our kids of the mayors… so… that brings out a rivalry of sorts. Or something like that. She also isn't as bad as Gil thinks she is… ORMAYBESHEIS.

Uhhm… next chapter, we see Luke and Gil's lunch out, with Chase and Maya finally appearing. Gil and Elli's "coffee date" and fun at the library! THATIS… if it all goes according to plan… because I've already gone waaay off course and constructed a new plot without even knowing it.

Erm, byyye.

.Blubber Nuggets.


End file.
